


30 days of writing (2012-2013)

by kheradihr



Category: Original Work
Genre: 30 Days of Writing, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multiple Fandoms, Original Fiction, Other, not going to tag every fandom sorrynotsorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 30
Words: 6,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kheradihr/pseuds/kheradihr
Summary: 30 prompts, not written in 30 days, pulled from archive to share. Started 9 June 2012.Prompts:beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future





	1. Day 1: Beginning

In the beginning, there was the Void. The beings existing there were shadows of nothingness, without understanding of Self or Existence. Birth and Death had no place.

A child tumbled into the Void. As she perpetually fell, she saw the beings and felt the Void pressing in on her. Just as the despair nearly broke her mind and the pressure of loneliness almost crushed her chest, she remembered.

How the smell of cold rain on hot summer stones tasted.

A flower’s kiss on her nose.

She laughed.

The Void Died. Life was Born.

And the world was made new.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much here. Looking at it though, I kind of wish I wrote Seerai’s origin myth rather than this. Idk, I was trying to fit it into 100 words and I feel like I really short changed the piece.
> 
> (Written 9 June 2012)


	2. Day 2: Accusation

“Liar.”

“Betrayer.”

“Witch.”

“Unnatural.”

“Cursed.”

She fled into the woods recklessly, trying to escape the words. Even her father’s reassurances that she was special and an irreplaceable member of the community couldn’t keep those accusations at bay. With each word came the ghosts of the war, the physical memories of her childhood friends dying in her arms, her advanced patrol being placed too far ahead to double back when the back attack smashed into their unit. She was too late to save them. All she could do was take their blood-drowned farewells, pleas, sobs as her wolves huddled close giving them small scraps of comfort as they died.

She did her duty; fought hard and gave up pieces of her soul so she could return home alone. She shouldered the guilt of surviving long before she faced angry grieving mothers and dismissive fathers. Instead of staying in the village where her presence would hurt her father’s – how could she forget with the villagers reminding her constantly, he only adopted her, she wasn’t a true member of the village – business, she returned to where she came.

And her mother, the forest welcomed her. Accepted her tears and grief without condemnation. As she slept, finally exhausting herself, her mother listened to the animals who followed her life.

When the village who rejected her awoke they discovered something tragic.

The forest that was there home rejected them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is from a very old short story that I need to edit. This will definitely be in the revised edition, probably even more edited. I can’t say much more without throwing the whole story out there.
> 
> (Written 10 June 2012)


	3. Day 3: Restless

If it wasn’t the darkspawn blood driving the Warden’s pace, it was her Dalish heritage. What was second nature to her, spurred on by the tainted blood now coursing through her veins meant she kept her miniature army on the exact. Same. Pace.

Alistair counted the days they were in one place on one hand without getting to his thumb. Even when securing the Grey Warden treaties she didn’t dally. The Circle Mages were saved in three days; she didn’t want the Templars in Denerim to march. Amongst her own people, she spent four and that was only because the Craftmaster needed an extra day to mend everyone’s armor.

If it weren’t for Ariadne’s pathological claustrophobia in the Deep Roads and her constant resurfacing that quest would have taken weeks instead of months. To say that she hated the Deep Roads was akin to saying that Loghain didn’t quite care for Orlesians.

“My dear,” he called into their shared tent. She poked her head out.

“Yes?”

“As your second in command, I feel it’s necessary to inform you that Oghren and Zevran plan to spike everything with the dwarf’s home brew to slow you down.”

Her mouth turned crooked. “I should slow my pace or we’re going to have a repeat of our first trip into Denerim, hm?”

“Exactly,” he chuckled.

“Alright. This place seems quiet enough. We’ll stay here for a few days so everyone can get cleaned up.”

Alistair dropped a kiss on her lips. “Thank you love. We’ll make the most of the reprieve.”

Two nights in shrieks attacked in the night and Ariadne was forced to kill her best friend Tamlen.

No one commented on her pace again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon Warden will always have a place in my heart. Playing Dragon Age: Origins really affected me and gave me an interest in games where you make the character you play. One of the hardest points in the game for me was having to kill Tamlen. I have pages of fanfiction written about Ariadne. I just need to keep writing.
> 
> (Written 11 June 2012)


	4. Day 4: Snowflake

It was cold enough for snow, the Huntsman realized as his feet crunched through the frosted prairie. The land that was once scorched stumped forests under Ravenna’s reign was already being reclaimed by nature. Only a few months long, Snow White’s reign was already breathing life into not only the people but the land.

Like how she breathed life into him with her very presence.

“You’re running, Huntsman,” William called from the portcullis. “She wants you here. We want you here.”

“I know boy,” Huntsman muttered to himself, breath puffing out from his scarf, remembering William’s words the night the boy caught him sneaking out. He was running. He belonged in the forests hunting his quarry, not behind thick castle stone. It was claustrophobic – the walls and their regard. Those two children would be the death of him.

Something shifted in the forest ahead. He picked up his pace, axe swinging from his traveling hold to the ready. The Dark Forest still had its dangers. A boulder shifted from its place at the base of a tree. He spun, only to have his eyes shift to a single white fleck falling from the sky to rest on the thick fringe of dark eyelashes. More snowflakes fell and when she turned her gaze upon him it looked like she had stars in her eyes. The snap of a leather coat had him wondering if snowflakes caught in the boy’s eyes the same way.

Instead of reading the message in her eyes he continued on his path towards the Riverfolk’s village, feet now crunching the layer of freshly fallen snow. A hand, pale as that snow slipped into his free one as bow callused fingers brushed the back of his neck.

If they weren’t the death of him, they surely would be his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saw Snow White and the Huntsman and I ship all three together. This is them. I would like to write more about their relationship post coronation.
> 
> (Written 12 June 2012)


	5. Day 5: Haze

The sky was hazy when I woke up today. Everyone commented about it because it was out of season; in this heat clouds couldn’t even survive. We went about our lives and went to sleep.

The next day and the rest of the week it was still hazy. No one commented on it, instead they kept their heads down and worked in the fields as if the brunt of the sun beat upon their backs.

The haze still didn’t leave a month later. If anything, it got darker, obscuring more from one’s sight. I had trouble seeing my brother from a distance as he called for my help. When I got closer he cuffed me and scolded me for not coming sooner. The oxen needed water. Even though the weather was cloudy now they seemed like they were about to die of dehydration.

Two months after the haze set in I awoke and couldn’t see anything. I called out to my mother, telling her that the haze was so dark I didn’t think we’d be able to work today. My mother made a confused noise before sadly telling me it was sunny outside. It had been for two months.

Oh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing much to say here. I wanted a gradual progression to blindness that was subtle. I honestly didn’t realize that I was a blindness fic until halfway through.
> 
> (Written 15 June 2012)


	6. Day 6: Flame

Her hair flowed like flame in the hot winds as the tribe set camp. The blonde streaks burned bright orange in the sunset as the rest of her hair blended in with the sky. She must have felt smothered under her head wrap, he thought. She certainly shucked it quickly once the caravan leader called a halt. Her adopted mother called her aside to tie the loose head wrap around her neck, quietly scolding in her language about sunburns. She nodded and pressed a kiss to the woman’s wrinkled cheek before joining the other girls in gathering the camels to water them.

“You choose not to go with the children,” the caravan master commented as he chewed on his pipe.

He shook his head. “I don’t deserve to.”

The old man snorted smoke out his nose. “Harumph. No one can get warm unless they draw close to the flame.”

He nodded in acknowledgement and began putting up his tent. As much as he wanted to draw near that flame he was afraid of being burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something from the Apotheosis series, which I should really rename “Nephilim are stubborn, kick them in the shin and move on”.
> 
> (Written 15 June 2012)


	7. Day 7: Formal

In the years they had known each other, Sif and Loki were nothing but formal with each other. He was the second son of Odin Allfather as well as the beloved younger brother of her patron, Thor. She was the strange, lanky maiden that could knock back the Warriors Three in sparring matches. The class difference kept them apart, even when she became one of Thor’s companions.

At least, in public.

Behind closed doors, the eyes that can only meet are shut against the intensity of Sif pressing Loki against the nearest surface and kissing him hard. Her fingers sink into his hair with the same dexterity her blade enters a body, ripping the smooth dome of slick black asunder. Loki growls against her teeth and vanishes only to phase in behind her, one hand entwining with Sif’s as the other dances at the hem of her tunic.

“Loki,” she gasps as she presses her hips against his.

He hisses – always thinking, even when helpless, it is what differentiates her from the rest of Thor’s companions – and breathes her scent.

“What?”

“Don’t play. Please.”

He spins her around and lifts her so he can unlace her leggings while she makes quick work of his pants. No matter how many times they meet this intimately she is always so real. “Never. I would never play with you.”

It’s the last they speak for the rest of the moments they can catch together outside of Thor’s overlarge presence. When they are done, they tidy the other up, last lingering touches until they can meet again.

At Thor’s coronation, they stand so close and look in opposite directions.

In the time after Loki’s disappearance, she did not correct anyone when they assumed her somber mein was for Thor’s sake instead of her own. But in the dark of night she would go out to the edge of the Bifrost and whisper into the vast space around her.

“Don’t play, Loki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, a drabble! And it’s not a Thor/Loki ship! There will probably be a long drawn out story but this will do. Only five hours of writing. *dies*
> 
> (Written 17 June 2012)


	8. Day 8: Companion

She lays against my feet and I let her even though her thick fur is smothering in this heat.

She licks my knees in apology and rolls over. My feet breathe. But I can’t.

The air is too thick. I feel like I’m breathing corn syrup when I’d rather have sweet maple. I hate syrup.

She looks to the west and her ears perk up. It’s all I need to make me smile and keep breathing.

The old fan attached to the patio roof begins to rotate. The cut grass in the yard rotates the other direction. I shove my feet into my tennis shoes. No socks. Takes too long this time of year.

We don’t get into the shelter until we’re deafened by the thunder escorting the tornado. When it passes, she sits on my feet, muzzle on my shoulder.

She is still by my side at the end of the season even when my house isn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Semiautobiographical. While this didn’t exactly happened, it was a mashup of experiencing storms with my dog Alex minus the tornado-demolishing-my-home bit. I do in fact like syrup, btw, just not corn syrup. Blech.
> 
> (Written 17 June 2012)


	9. Day 9: Move

The staff whipping across his face felt like nothing compared to the force his body slammed into the training mat. His master’s feet moved in the complicated patterns that made up the Wind Flower Style, never stopping even after disabling her opponent. That was one of the central tenants of their creed, “Be the flower on the wind, volant and brilliant, willing to lose both to survive in dignity.”

There was a reason why only women were masters of this art.

“Again,” his master commanded. He stayed on the ground. “Rise, _boy_.”

He did not.

Her feet shifted as she discarded her staff. His gut clenched; his master was the ultimate in hand-to-hand combat. If he didn’t choose the right form to react with he wouldn’t be leaving the training grounds by his own means. If he read her stance correctly she was in Bird of Paradise. It gave him an idea.

When her balance shifted he _moved_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the scene in Bleach where Zangetsu is telling Ichigo to step forward. That and when Rukia cheers Ichigo up right after they see Ulquiorra for the first time. I had the same feeling writing this. Volant is a fun word.
> 
> (Written 18 June 2012)


	10. Day 10: Silver

In her lifetime, for all of the people she’s been and the lives she’s lived she always wore silver jewelry. Gold didn’t suit her, whether by her complexion or her nature. She was a child of stars and moons, distant even for all her centuries walking the warm earth. During one of her lives any gold jewelry she received as gifts from fans or admirers looking to woo her away from her domestic duties she gave to her husband.

“He’s brighter than I,” she explained once. “Such brilliance should be adorned with like brilliance.”

Even now, in the life that seems to suit her best she wears silver. Not as much as when she was a princess or worshiped as a goddess, but it’s still there. The cuffs in her ears, the delicate chain that connects them. Two rings on her right middle finger, both on the side of too big so they rotate easily when toyed with. An anklet and toe rings, all pounded silver, the patina showing that they were almost as old as she was. Few notices because her clothes are old, well worn and well loved. Those that do smile as if they were just let in on a secret. Mayhap they have.

But the best silver she wears is when she slips off the cuffs and returns to the form she was born as. The form that had her claimed a goddess, then a heretic. The silver is a fountain of silk spilling down her back that she never lets anyone brush except one.

Most of her silver hidden away with her heart, she waits for that one to remember how to hold the brush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A character piece for an OC I wrote for a fanfic. She became a lot more compelling as I’ve written her over the years. In my head it’s a certain character talking about her who knew her throughout those lives and now he watches her even though she doesn’t know he’s him. Which is sad because he was in love with her in a previous life and when he reincarnated he can’t remember anything but these things come to mind as he watches her. I think they would’ve been sweet together but he always felt his love paled in comparison to her other relationships. The only thing that comforts me is that he has always been her friend no matter his incarnation.
> 
> (Written 18 June 2012)


	11. Day 11: Prepared

Flute? Check.

Lap harp, qin, or koto? Too hard to choose. A qin or koto would sound better in conjunction with her song but the lap harp would fit into his pack easier. Perhaps he should take another bag…

He shook his head and turned away from all three. He could pack one if he had room after packing everything else.

His favorite tea? Triple, no, quadruple check. How would he sing for hours without it?

Some spare shirts, his brush, quill, ink and scrolls to write music. The pretty stone that hummed when a storm was nearby. That was his trump card. If a storm was near, so would she. She was storm incarnate and he heard her song better than any not of his own creation.

Tucking his current composition – dedicated to her, no less – into his jacket he went to go say farewell to his friends. They tried to convince him to stay, saying that he would disappear just like she did but he didn’t listen. With a final good bye he strode away, so focused on his task that he left his pack behind.

With nothing but love and conviction he left his place amongst the gods to find her. Though he lost himself and his purpose along the way he found her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Symnoh and Ttems (‘he’ and 'her’ respectively) belong to something I loosely call Revival. They’re a part of a very large pantheon of interesting people who exhaust me every time I try to work with them. It seriously took me a few months to wrestle Ttems’ name from her and then she recently informed me that there was no second e in her name. Bitch.
> 
> (Written 19 June 2012)


	12. Day 12: Knowledge

Her mother’s death was an accident. It’s what everyone said. But those that knew her mother always wondered in the years that followed. Her mother was the best at what she did; an accident was too coincidental for her. Coincidences in her business meant a hit.

A hit on the leader of the most powerful family in the underworld was ambitious. Or insane.

Then her father died in a car explosion that was clearly meant for her. She needed to know who was behind her parents’ deaths.

That knowledge assured her place as her mother’s heir and the most dangerous woman of her line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From Charlemagne, my crime family story. Something that isn’t fantasy or scifi based. I can’t wait until I write this. It’s been in production since 2005 but it’s so important (comparatively) I don’t want to screw anything up.
> 
> (Written 20 June 2012)


	13. Day 13: Denial

Three years after David’s death, Merideth had moved on. She spent her time between doing odd jobs for her friends and school. She hadn’t seen her therapist in ten months and she renewed her driver’s license.

She dated, occasionally. Not often, but her closest friends were just happy to see her living again. Being by her side as she recovered physically and psychologically was just as daunting as going through it firsthand.

It wasn’t until a photography major with ice blue eyes appeared in their lives to find out she hadn’t recovered as much as everyone thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From my story Colorblind that will stay in the planning stage until I get some other projects out of the way. It’s one of my few non-fantasy or scifi stories.
> 
> (Written 22 June 2012)


	14. Day 14: Wind

Finally, the orderly thought. She finally calmed down.

Rolling his shoulders, he left his charge to get coffee.

She sat in the window, face pressed to the glass. When the orderly checked on her half an hour ago her eyes were empty, presumably from the strong sedatives administered. Her breath was even and soft, just enough air to keep her body functioning.

When the sound of footsteps faded, she blinked, coming back to herself. She didn’t move. Her eyes followed the leaves’ movement in the wind, mouth forming words no one but her heard.

“Quick, before he comes back, tell me another story.”

The wind instead gave her news of a friend. She was so excited she didn’t even revert back to her empty facsimile. Instead she leapt forward and greeted the old woman the orderly returned with.

“Hello Lydia, my name is Lex,” she introduced herself in ancient Greek to the surprise of the orderly.

The old woman’s unfocused eyes sharpened and took in Lex’s bony form. She smiled and answered in the same language.

“Good gods, child. When the wind said you were a slip I didn’t quite believe it. Where is the cafeteria? I need to feed you.”

Hearing Lex’s laughter made the wind dance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet Lex and Lydia meeting each other, from my Apotheosis series. Lex is Fae-born and Lydia is a Sibyl who are in an institution for those precise reasons. They’ll stay in the mental hospital for some years before Jeremy comes to get them. But that’s another story.
> 
> (Written 24 June 2012)


	15. Day 15: Order

The guy at table eight always ordered the same thing no matter what time he came in: vegetarian omelet with an obscene amount of jalapenos and cheese with the house coffee. No matter what blend the house coffee was he’d put in too many sugars and no milk. Chris always wondered if the amount of sugar added was proportional to the amount of spiciness the omelet was. He never asked though. Jala-guy – as the cooks were known to call him – was a regular, coming in every other day without fail for the past three years. You took his order and moved on, sometimes with a little smalltalk about the weather or how busy the diner was.

For the first time in the fourteen months Chris worked at the diner he didn’t wait for Jala-guy to make his order. They were slammed because a nearby hotel was hosting a convention and didn’t deign to warn the local businesses. He finally got to Jala-guy’s table nearly half an hour after he sat down and slid a cup of today’s blend, something from Morocco that smelled like it could be meth Christ was so tired, and said, “The usual right? I got the cooks working on it when I got your coffee.”

Jala-guy started. Chris looked away from the full tab pad he was flipping through to meet his eyes. He looked so disappointed, like Chris just knocked the ice cream off his cone. Just as sudden as his disappointment, he blinked and then he was Jala-guy once again, all shallow observations and impersonal conversation.

“Thanks. Try not to work so hard today, Chris.”

Jala-guy didn’t show up for a week afterwards. Instead of feeling relieved about not having to have jalapeno-air threatening to pop his contacts out Chris was uneasy. He didn’t take Jala-guy’s order and gave really shitty service that weekend. Most of the regulars already forgave him for it, saying they understood before continuing their meals.

Then one day when Chris was about to cash out Jala-guy came in. He wasn’t wearing his usual slacks and shirt combination but jeans and a t-shirt. Retying his apron Chris made a beeline for his table.

“Hi Chris, are you working late?”

“Yeah,” he lied. He needed to apologize to Jala-guy. “What can I get you?”

“Meatloaf with an extra side of mashed potatoes and gravy. A chocolate milkshake too.”

Chris’ hand stopped as he was about to write down the order. “Sure. Meatloaf with–that’s not your usual.”

Jala-guy looked almost embarrassed. He chuckled nervously. “I was told to indulge a little by my boss. He didn’t like taking vacation and return to find out I lived in the office to finish a project early.”

“Was it an important project?” Christ had forgotten all about the order. He wanted to know what kept Jala-guy from coming to the diner.

“I’d like to think so. Finishing the Mercier project early means my firm will go international. We won’t be isolated to the nation and I can go land more clients.”

“You’ll have to travel.” Chris wanted to bite his tongue. He sounded like a brat.

“I figured you’d be happy. I know how much my omelets bother your eyes.”

“Order something different more often. Oh shit, I need to put in your order. Give me a second.”

Chris dashed to the kitchen but when he came out a group of high schoolers came in and sat on his side. He didn’t have much of a chance to keep talking to Jala-guy. As usual, he paid by cash. After accidentally pulling a triple shift, Chris finally cashed out and found a business card in amongst his bills.

The front said it belonged to a Keven Packerd, Senior Project Manager for Ovelen Architecture. On the back, there was a note.

_It seems large crowds always get in the way of talking to you. I’d love to get dinner together, no jalapenos, promise. Call me. Keven._

Thirteen months later, Keven still came to the diner like clockwork and Chris was there to take his order with an added side: a kiss and Chris’ break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I really copped out with this plot. It feels so generic yaoi manga, lol.
> 
> (Written 30 June 2012)


	16. Day 16: Thanks

It’s loud in here, the mansion inside my head. Actually, mansion is not quite the right word. A modular tent system would be more accurate in both layout and size. Besides, there’s always new additions and even when it’s mental, renovations and rearrangements cost a lot. I may have a lot of ideas, but I’m always low in resources.

Inside my modular mind tent – I really like how that sounds – it’s loud with the combined conversations of everyone living in my head. Everyone usually keeps to their rooms; I hyperventilate imagining what would happen if all of them were waiting for me in the “public room” when I next visit. I use quotations because I have no idea what the others call it and I kind of don’t care; they may be my creations but they develop apart from me.

It’s empty right now and I flop into one of the pillow piles. The chairs are comfortable enough but I just want to sink into something that isn’t my residents. Usually when I visit I go and seek out who I want to work with. Then it’s the spectrum of simply observing and learning to full out fights so I can at least call them by name. Sometimes they’re waiting on me, ambushing the moment I step inside. I can never gather the information they throw at me fast enough during those times.

This time I came just to get away. I don’t want to write but I can’t stay away. I shut my eyes and float down the river of their mingled conversations. I lose myself for a while.

I feel something. Slight and almost imperceptible but it leaves me warm. I smile and hunker down further into the pillows. Each time it happens I feel the tension in me lessen; I feel lighter despite knowing when I wake up everything that bogged me down will still be waiting for me.

It’s not until my oldest come and whisper in my ears that I understand what this was. They know me the best and say the words I’ve been hearing the entire time but could not comprehend until now.

_Thank you for giving birth to us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been fighting with this theme for months now; nothing I was writing for this felt right and I had a strange compulsion not to just vomit something out. Then this happened. It’s actually an occurrence that recently happened inside my head. School’s started and not only do I have time to write but I’m exhausted long before the thought of writing can enter my head. So I went and hid with all my characters. There are no words to express how much they mean to me and how much they help me.
> 
> (Written 8 September 2012)


	17. Day 17: Look

“Look, what I’m trying to say is…” was always how he started his sentences. I’m used to it. He always wants me to look at something, whether it was there to look at or if it was his words. I can’t really count the number of times his sentences did _not_ begin with “Look.” I virtually ignore the word now.

Then my ignorance got me in trouble. I didn’t look when he said to and it changed something between us. He didn’t come to me anymore with whatever he wanted me to look at. I missed his enthusiasm because in hindsight I realized that “Look” meant it was something he wanted to share with me. Listening to his conversations he didn’t use it to try to convince someone of his point. I was the only one he prefaced his sentences with that word. I lost it. And I missed it.

On a blustery autumn day when I was scribbling sentences for my newest proposal I heard, “Look, Fer…”

Despite its softness and how fast his words cut off I turned my head to look at him.

I saw him then, as if it were the first time, eyes bright with something other than friendship.

I think I just figured out what he meant every time he said that word.

“Look at me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a difference between looking and seeing.
> 
> (Written 19 December 2012)


	18. Day 18: Summer

It’s cold again today. Cold. Drizzly. _Foggy_. I haven’t seen the sun in three weeks. I look to the calendar, my laptop, my cell phone, the morning paper. They all tell me the same thing; that is is in fact July. I scowl at the thickening clouds as they darken the sky even more.

Another five months, I tell myself. Another five months and I go home. Five months until scorching sun and blistering winds.

Five months until summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another prompt I struggled with. I didn’t want to do something obvious with the prompt so I was stalled until a discussion with a friend about her father’s experiences going to university in Britain (he grew up in Australia) gave me some inspiration.
> 
> (Written 23 March 2013)


	19. Day 19: Transformation

He could feel it, the storm’s summons echoed deep in his bones. His soul tried to crawl out of him to answer them even though it wasn’t his Name being called. He didn’t even know his Name, let alone the Name that was in the storm. He giggled madly as he pressed himself into the back wall of the shallow cave. His bones protested the abuse but he knew the pain would be worth it if She answered what was calling Her Name. That Name he didn’t know but knew anyways.

Near the entrance, guarding and protecting even though it wasn’t in her nature, Strife tensed, eyes on the gathering storm. He knew she felt something because her fingers rested on her blade, her instrument of great and terrible music. He swallowed another mad laugh. He didn’t want her distracted. Not now, not when so much was resting on this storm. The stone clutched in his hands sang loudly in his ears as if to drown out what his soul heard.

“I…” Strife said as her voice trailed off with a rumble of thunder. “I think there’s something outside. I’m going to check. Stay here, Noy.”

He nodded vigorously to both her order and her decision but she didn’t see either. She was already outside, sheathed blade in hand. The sky stilled, holding its breath. He exhaled and the storm broke.

Lightning reached down from the sky and grasped her hair, yanking it down, down, longer until she fell to her knees. Glowing daggers of energy pinned her hair to the ground forcing her body into a backwards arch. That was when the hands came. Great arcs of lightning reached into her chest and ripped her apart, pulling her very essence, the Song he heard in her, from her in luminescent rivers that reached for the sky. Each lightning bolt that came from the sky and connected with them charged the rivers, setting them on fire that raced long them to join the source. To join Strife. The air hummed as more and more rivers met lightning, a building song of welcome for whatever was coming. As the volume and pitch increase with each new connection, so did the light gathering in Strife’s body. Eventually all he could hear was the welcome. He could hear nothing else; not Strife’s continuous screams of pain, not the explosions of thunder when each connection was made. Just the Welcome and the unknown, unspoken Name waiting behind it.

As the last piece of Strife’s essence connected to the last lightning bolt, she exploded. The storm was torn asunder as she absorbed it all into herself. All of the power, the energy, the rage, the pain, the light. All of it inside herself. Moonlight shone on long pale hair and naked skin as she stood, Blade in hand. She turned storm-bright eyes on him. Hands empty, he clapped them against his mouth to keep a song from spilling out. The Welcome hung heavy and ripe inside him, the Name taking shape.

She was moving closer.

Inside the cave she knelt, the Blade resting on the ground so she could cup his face. Her other hand gently pulled his hands away from his mouth. The Welcome was on his tongue, sweet and heady; Her Name gagging him with its need to be said. He was sure this is what being drunk was like.

“Noy?”

Relief surged within him. She knew him. He was still Hers. Would always be Hers. She returned home and he waited. Waited so long. Now he could Welcome Her.

“I found you Ttems.”

Empty, blessedly empty, he blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course I write someone having their divinity being ripped out of its prison by a storm when a storm is going. Ttems is laughing at me.
> 
> From my Revival story, related to [Day 11](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576072/chapters/62391325), though much later in the narrative.


	20. Day 20: Tremble

When he let her go, Yuu managed to keep his hands steady just like Kristyn did her best to keep her voice bright and happy. But once he rejoined the others he noticed a slight tremble in his hands.  
  
He learned to play despite the tremble; he had promises to keep.  
  
When her letters slowed and he focused on his music so much he only replied in his mind since all of his paper was full the tremble worsened..  
  
Each time he noticed it – anytime he wasn’t playing – he drank and sexed it away. At least that’s what he told himself.  
  
It was odd though. Any time he shared a bed with Ken Yuu trembled in a way that felt good, familiar. It was scary because that tremble only belonged to a girl he forced himself to forget for a promise.  
  
But he always went back to Ken, to that good tremble because if he was to perpetually tremble it might as well be underneath Ken’s hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ken and Yuu are difficult boys who don’t do so well without a certain girl in their lives. Good thing I’m going to have them all bang each other one day.
> 
> (Written 30 March 2013)


	21. Day 21: Sunset

A week before Yuu’s second year of high school, he saw the sun while walking his dog Ringo. She was standing atop the playground in the park trying to see as much of the neighborhood from that vantage point. Her friend called to her from the other side, unseen, and she hopped down, long red curls like a corona around her still unknown face.

He didn’t expect to see her be introduced to his class on the first day of school, socked feet missing school slippers. Her hair was brighter up close and like a moth to flame he was drawn to her. Caught in his sun’s gravity, he fell and was consumed.

But it wasn’t to last. She was only here for the school year. In a year she was going to be gone, a year long sunset he cherished with every breath.

The plane lifted off and the sunset ended, plunging him into night. Eventually he found a moon that reflected her long forgotten light and he used that as his light.

Little did he know in ten years his sun would rise again, let alone recognize her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short character piece about the guy in [Day 20](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576072/chapters/62395867) back when he first saw Kristyn. Yuu is a very complicated character who is troublesome for both his writers and his friends but he is rather adorable. Can anyone guess his ‘moon’?
> 
> (Written 31 March 2013)


	22. Day 22: Mad

The siblings – “We’re not twins. Stop calling us that.” – were an odd sort. They had more class and grace in their smallest fingernail than the most expensive courtesan when they chose to use it. They didn’t take offense to the hazing when they first joined the crew either, just cozied in next to each other on the one hammock assigned to them, easy as pie. They rarely even use the second one the quartermaster gave them eventually.

Even without that they were strange. They like to watch the ground miles underneath them, pointing and speaking in a strange language no one knew. Captain said they weren’t madlings but we all still wonder. Only jumpers have that much interest in the Underworld.

We found out the truth when we anchored on a springland to refill our water casks. The brother, with his long braid coming undone with the wind, shouted his sister’s name from the rigging. Plenty of eyes watched him shimmy down to the deck just so he could lean on the railing, feet kicking gleefully. She came from below deck, scratching and tussling the short crop of curls her hair became after a week on board.

“This better be important, Dae. I just went to sleep.”

“Desy, _look_.”

“By the Taj,” she swore when she looked in the direction he pointed, hand now rubbing her eyes. “Is it really?”

Almost as if the Captain was answering her question, she shouted from the wheel, “Alright, we’re docked for six hours. If you’re not on water detail, congratulations and enjoy your R&R.”

With a whoop of joy Dae and Desy leapt off the ship and tore down the hill to the lake stripping as they ran. Without hesitation they dove into the lake to surface shrieking from the cold.

They weren’t drowning. Instead of fear in their voices there was excitement as they played in the water everyone knew was too keep and too dangerous to be in. Right as the ship was about to cast off they returned from the water, even darker skinned and smiling as their clothes stuck to their wet skin.

“We were swimming,” they explained plainly before getting to work.

Swimming. Whatever that was, we knew the Captain was lying about those two. They were definitely mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Skylanders don’t know how to swim. They can glide like badasses in the air-based ocean that the Skylands moves through but swimming is scary and unheard of. Daenis and Desys though, are Underworlders and haven’t swam in a few months, maybe a year. Of course they’re going to take advantage of the first lake they’ve seen. And make all their crew mates think they’re crazy.
> 
> (Written 1 April 2013)


	23. Day 23: Thousand

_Each time we remember, we find another Thread. Wrapped in our pain and grief we didn’t think the way to save her, the way to return her to us was so simple._

The first Thread when Kara remembered the curve of her fingers as she handled thread. With the first, hard won and painfully, tearfully gained, it allowed them to find more.

The ninetieth when Keil pointed his toe the same way she taught him so he could walk silently enough that he could sneak up on Tuulii.

The two hundredth when Kareen found herself dancing to the tempo of her laughter. That day, the Ashelan household heard their second child’s voice, a broken sobbing laugh, in months.

It wasn’t just her Three who found Threads wrapped around their memories. Others did too and brought them reverent and hopeful to Kara. No one wanted to remind Saito that his daughter was gone and his house again was empty.

Over time the Threads multiplied until Kara felt she had enough. Then with her two siblings on either side of her they entered the Shrine of the Lady. Laying the Threads on the altar they prayed the same prayer to Seera.

_“One thousand Threads for the soul of a friend.”_

Now they waited for an answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kara, Keil and Kareen Ashelan are three very important people to a woman who doesn’t know how to be *normal*. They love her for it and want her back. This is how they do it. For my Else series that involves true love denial, a lot of weaving imagery and me breaking my characters’ hearts against their will.
> 
> (Written 2 April 2013)


	24. Day 24: Outside

For as long as Lex could remember, outside was the yards and gardens that dotted the institution. If patients were good, they got to go outside and feel the sun on their skin. But Lex dreamed of more. She believed outside, the true outside was far beyond the walls of the institution and she wanted to see them more than she wanted to breathe.

She got outside once when she was young and wily; a psychiatrist’s trust used to obtain plans and a train ticket through the internet. Being out there was heady, there was so much air to breathe and the sky went on and on until it met the horizon, something she only read about in books. But being young, she was caught, cut off from the outside and under strict supervision. From her spot in the big window she sullenly watched birds fly freely in and out of the institution. She coveted their wings.

Then one day a man came and he had the most beautiful wings on his back. No one noticed them but her and Lydia and they kept their mouths shut in fear that they would be punished. Instead, this man opened his wings and offered them a way out.

They were outside.

They were free.

But in time, Lex began to covet the man’s wings as well. This outside was still not enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More from my Apotheosis story, of which we saw some of in [Day 14](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576072/chapters/62392033). Lex has an insatiable desire to see outside, whether it be outside the institution she grew up in, outside the Retreat, outside the county, et cetera, et cetera. In time she’ll get to see everything from an outside point of view. I doubt she expected that when she dreamed of the outside.
> 
> (Written 3 April 2013)


	25. Day 25: Winter

Winter was always the kindest of seasons, I feel. She isn’t as hasty and obnoxious as Spring, with her constant focus on growth and reproduction. She isn’t as cruel as Summer, beating the earth with the harsh sun and harsher storms. She isn’t as exacting as Autumn, when each molecule of life is broken down and returned like a loan in repayment. No, Winter is nothing like any of the other seasons.

She is a kind creature. Like a mother who looks upon the earth after it goes through the other seasons, weary and low, she covers it with a blanket of snow, light yet warm and whispers as she strokes its brow to ease the tension.

“Sleep. Rest and heal, for a new day is coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this was interesting. I couldn’t come up with something on paper so I went straight to the computer and opened the text function on tumblr. At first this was a nameless narrator who I didn’t relate to at all. But as I wrote I realized that “Winter” could be many things. Our geologic Ice Ages are a winter of sorts, triggered from mass amounts of volcanism and high densities of greenhouse gasses in our atmosphere, letting our planet rest and rejuvenate itself. Considering how we treat our planet, I am now wondering when the next true “Winter” is coming.
> 
> As I continued to write, I felt I knew this speaker, or at least was lucky enough to hear their voice. It was profound and I feel like I learned a secret today.
> 
> This is why I doubt I’d ever get tired of writing.
> 
> (Written 5 April 2013)


	26. Day 26: Diamond

It’s a thing of cruelty, how a diamond is made. The smallest piece of carbon, something that is in all of us, is put through the cruelest of tests, those of fire and pressure. Not once, or twice, but continuously for far longer than humanity’s entire existence over and over and over again.

I think diamonds with flaws are the most beautiful.

Like souls – and people – these flaws change a diamond into something more than hard, cold clarity. They shape the diamond, give it color, give it character. They are rarer than the common concept of a diamond and even more valuable for it. Because it tells the one looking at them, “I am flawed and that makes me _me_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When people find out about my past they’re always surprised and impressed at my result. I still feel uncomfortable about their amazement but when I take a step back and look at it like it’s a case file, I realize that anyone who goes through strenuous trials are all the same. And that, I feel, is a thing of beauty.
> 
> (Written 7 April 2013)


	27. Day 27: Letters

They wrote to each other every day, Alexis and Ryou. It didn’t matter if there was a delay in replies, each day they had to write. Each day another message.

_Daisuki._

It was hard being separated by half a world when you loved someone that much. Each day was painful, but the letters they sent and received made it worth it.

_Aishiteru._

They wrote to each other in English, a precaution against Ryou’s stepfather. He never approved of Ryou’s relationship, let alone that she was American. It smacked of his wife’s prior “indiscretion” – his grandparents’ word – that resulted in Ryou’s birth.

_Koishi-_

Then the letters stopped. For a time, Alexis kept sending them but without a reply. She sent one more.

_Sayonara._

It was a lie, though. She never let go, never truly said good-bye. It was more of a break. She didn’t send the letters but she continued writing them in hopes that one day they would be read and replied to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meet the other couple in that story [Day 20](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576072/chapters/62395867) and [21](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576072/chapters/62396461) are about. Alexis and Ryou’s story is a lot different than Kristyn, Ken and Yuu’s. It’s sad and tragic and it hurts to write them for a different reason. At this point you’ve met everyone but Yukihiro and Haruki. In the next two days of the challenge I hope to let you meet them too.
> 
> (Written 8 April 2013)


	28. Day 28: Promise

In that year and the many following, the seven of them made a number of promises. Kristyn promised them all that she would continue smiling no matter what happened. Alexis and Ryou promised each other that they would love each other forever. Ken promised himself that he would never be the “other man” again and pursue what he loved. Haruki promised Alexis that he would stand by Ryou and take care of him since she couldn’t. He also promised himself that he would pursue what he loved most. Yuu promised Kristyn that he would always play an instrument, even if it was the kazoo. Yukihiro’s promise got laughs from everyone through their tears.

Years passed and promises were kept and broken. Too many to count, too many to remember.

Haruki did his best but even that wasn’t good enough. They all went astray.

Only Yukihiro clung to his promise so tightly there were handprints embedded into two soft plushes left behind by two bright girls. He was the one that kept the promise that meant the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece (parts of Days [20](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576072/chapters/62395867), [21](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576072/chapters/62396461), and [27](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576072/chapters/62398312) has a lot of story crammed in it, even if it’s not mentioned. The year they spend together as kids really shapes all of them and how they go about their lives, whether good or ill. Some of them become better people. Others not. And one certain special steadfast boy is the anchor for everyone. He’s also the most strange dichotomy I’ve written, both Peter Pan and a man depending on what’s needed of him.
> 
> (Written 9 April 2013)


	29. Day 29: Simple

Ryou was a simple man with simple pleasures. He loved his girl, guitar and friends in just about that exact order. He had decent grades and never started fights at school no matter how much he was bullied. He said “yes, sir” and “no, sir” as his stepfather demanded. Then he lost his girl, guitar and friends in just about that exact order. All he had left was his stepfather’s demands.

Without the simple things in his life, Ryou decided to develop more expensive tastes. It was a shame he didn’t get the same pleasure out of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ryou is the example of giving into societal pressures and it destroys him to the extent that neither he nor Kristyn recognize each other when they first meet. They have a surprisingly strong bond that keeps directing them to encounter each other many more times before he gets his shit straightened out. I still can’t decide if I like writing the platonic chemistry or the romantic in this story.
> 
> (Yep, tied to Days [20](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576072/chapters/62395867), [21](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576072/chapters/62396461), [27](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576072/chapters/62398312), and [28](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25576072/chapters/62399272).)
> 
> (Written 10 April 2013)


	30. Day 30: Future

One step forward. Then another. An obstacle, turn ninety degrees to the left and step forward. The future is always ahead of you. No matter where you turn, back, left, right, ever vaguely downwards, the future, your future is ahead of you. If an obstacle comes, surmount or navigate around it.

Take one step forward.

The future is there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. This is the end to the 30 day writing challenge for me. The thing is, I didn’t do it in 30 days. I did it in 307 days, on average, once every 10 days. It made me think, made me feel. It’s been a great adventure but I have to keep moving forward to meet new goals. Thank you all for joining me in this journey, I hope you have enjoyed it as much as I have.
> 
> Remember, keep moving forward.
> 
> (Written 12 April 2013)

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come visit on [twitter!](https://twitter.com/Kheradihr)


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